


The Shadow of Doom: The Darkness of Arda's Fourth Age

by Count_Saruman



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Cackling Knight on a winged steed who is really just an Úmaia, A Villain on whom an entire year was spent, A bit of Light Humour when I can help it, A lot of Silmarillion, And His Brother - Freeform, Balrogs, Black Númenoreans, Cliffhangers, Duelling and Swordplay, Epic Battles, Eru Ilúvatar has a dark side, Gen, I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY VERY VERY MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, I may be evil BUT THIS IS A PERFECTLY STRAIGHT STORY RIGHT HERE, Lúthien returns, Major character death - Freeform, NO QUESTIONABLE CONTENT, Necessary Angst because of MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, New Dark Lord, Old enemies return, So does a certain fiery Noldo, Songs of Power, Sympathetic Valar, The Greatest Challenge Middle-earth has yet faced (including Morgoth), The Second terror of Alaqualondë, The Void is a sentient entity, Time is twisted, Traitors in Valinor, When Doom itself comes to smite you...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-12 02:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17459135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count_Saruman/pseuds/Count_Saruman
Summary: The Future of Arda is in Danger- and so is its past. A New Power is Rising, with a new Dark Lord (NOT OC) to cover all the lands in Darkness. The Valar find themselves completely at a loss, as they come up against A Villain so ruthless that Time itself cannot present an obstacle. The War of the Ring is Over- the War for Arda's survival is begun.





	1. The Silent Watcher

**Author's Note:**

> In which an unnoticed Character surveys the Battle of the Black Gate and heralds the commencement of this tale

****

# Prologue: The Silent Watcher 

** **

The Battle for the Black Gate was in full flow. Aragorn, son of Arathorn was fighting his hardest, Andúril clashing and striking against the poisoned, serrated blades of the countless orcs in front of him. Despite all the Valour of the Captains of the West, this was a hopeless battle, and he knew it.

He fought not to win, but to survive. Survive long enough to fight on, giving time to Frodo, to destroy the ring.

Hack. Cut. Stab. Slash. Parry. Slash. Parry- parry- swing- decapitate.

He conserved his energy as he fought, trying to guarantee kills with minimum effort. He could not afford to feel fatigue- yet there it was, creeping over his heart…

No. Aragorn was stronger than this.

"ELENDIL!" came the cry, and he leapt forward, swinging Andúril in a wide arc, killing six in one swing. With equal agility, he reverse-gripped his blade, stabbed the orc behind him, and retreated before being encircled.

Unbeknownst to the heir to the throne, something stirred. The shadows gathered. There was a momentary blackness behind him, undetectable except by a slight chill in the air. This was no servant of Sauron.

Clang. Clang. Crash. Ssssss. Clatter. Crack. Slice. Kkkkhhhhttt!

Andúril struck against the vicious dark blades of the orcs, blunting their serrated edges, and in some cases, cutting them clean off.

The nameless shadow watched with interest. The future king surely fought well- a challenge not to be underestimated. He was here, however, to observe, and to watch, to make observations. No actions on his part were required now. He turned, therefore, to the Elven Archer in front of him.

Legolas Thranduilion, despite the tremendous odds against him, was in his element. Twirl after graceful twirl he made, slicing off the heads of orcs with his knives, blades not even making contact. A gruff snarl told him that Gimli had smashed his group into a bloody pulp. Suddenly, he felt a chill in the air- with the ring this close, Sauron's power must have grown.

This was precisely why Legolas intended to carry out his plan. The Nazgûl were truly proving to be menaces. They flew in, and picked up the elite troops most discriminately, to be killed off from a height. Not anymore.

"Gimli- The fell beast draws near! Quickly- cut a path for me!"

The Dwarf did not even question it, a ghost of a smile emerging on his face, before shouting "Barûk Khazâd!" and, after taking a great leap, throwing himself into the orcs. Those that scattered were simply crushed. He then began to fight with greater vigour, scattering them further. Legolas took the opportunity, and nimbly climbed atop one of the towers of the teeth. A Nazgûl on his fell beast was flying directly above him.

Gandalf, seemingly reading the Elf's mind, sent a shaft of the purest divine light at the beast, blinding it and also nullifying the senses of its rider. Then, Legolas struck.

Six arrows all held firmly straight at the same time, he aimed at the foul creature. After moving haphazardly for a moment, the fell beast began hovering, slowly regaining its sight. It never swooped again.

Legolas' perfect aim caused all the arrows to embed themselves into the Fell beast's throat, killing it instantly. The Nazgûl, with foul sorcery, did attempt to cushion its landing, but Gandalf immediately summoned a bolt of lightning, striking the Ringwraith and destroying its corporeal body, sending its maimed Fëa out of the circles of the world.

Legolas then took out an arrow he had been reserving for this occasion, a white arrow given to him by Thranduil before he set out for Rivendell. It seemed to sing a song of its own, to call to his fingers to release it. He did so, piercing a second Fell Beast in the neck, Gandalf summoning a shaft of light this time to destroy its Rider's body.

With six Nazgûl remaining, the Eagles showed themselves, flying over the bloodied plains. Six immediately swept off to battle the six Wraiths. The last one circled haphazardly over Gorgoroth, making sure Sauron didn't see it slowly flying over to Orodruin.

The Shadow had seen enough, yet had not been seen. He had observed all the particularities of the battle, noting which part of the Morannon remained shadowed and hidden, and the parts in which battle did not happen. He carefully noted the exact time it took for each manoeuvre.

Slowly, the Entity glided over to a hidden part of the battlefield, the shadow dissipating. He saw a terrible, emaciated and broken creature purposefully making its way above the mountainside.

The shadows disappeared, and re-gathered right on the top of Orodruin's interior cliff. A hobbit was standing over the edge, dangling something tiny and gold over a chain, as if to throw it down into the lava below.

The shadow sensed that the creature- Gollum- was getting nearer.

"The Ring is Mine!" said Frodo Baggins. He then took it upon his finger, and seemingly vanished into thin air. The Shadow observed exactly when he did this. The rest of the speech, including the pleas of the second hobbit, was ignored. It was redundant, and- unnecessary.

Suddenly, the second hobbit was smashed on the back of the head with a rock. The Shadow noted exactly where he was struck. Gollum advanced forward, apparently sensing the Hobbit, who frantically scrambled.

The Shadow could see the hobbit and the former stoor struggling, able to see the former, as he lived completely in the shadow world himself. Yet, an enchantment of concealment, combined with Frodo being preoccupied, prevented the hobbit from seeing the shadow.

Finally, the time taken having been recorded, the shadow saw that Gollum was celebrating wildly, Frodo clutching the remnant of his finger, which had been bitten off. The other hobbit, Sam, was coming to.

In his wild celebrations, Gollum slipped a foot, and fell down, carrying the ring with him. It may be attributed to ill luck, or Gollum's own carelessness, but the Shadow knew this to not be true. This was the thing he had anticipated, and he recognised easily, having been specifically trained to do so, that this was divine intervention. Eru, it seemed, was watching this scene.

That would make things most difficult. The operation would have to be conducted with utmost care, and everything must go like clockwork. There was almost no room for error. He would come back.

He heard a loud screech, telling him that the Eagle was flying directly to Orodruin. He found the other hobbit- Sam- having jumped up to save Frodo from falling in as well, in his delirium after the Ring's loss. He had measured the exact time between the Hobbit's and the Eagle's coming to the volcano.

This was it. Sauron was about to be disembodied. Mordor's defences would collapse, followed by the Dark Tower and then the Land of Shadow itself.

The Silent Watcher decided it to be the best time to leave. He had observed and noted everything to a fault. He could not fail. He would not fail. After all, he was made for this.

The shadow gathered for one last time, and then dissipated. Vanished. Disappeared.

"Victory! We have Victory!" issued forth from Aragorn's mouth, the great cry ringing out across all of Mordor.

* * *

Years later, the Shadow reformed in a distant corner of Rhûn. He would have a body soon. He knew it. He must have it. His master had told him he would get one.

He had, as always, done well. That is what he had been created for- to carry out each order perfectly, to a fault.

He would be the ending Doom of Middle-earth, The Darkness to cover the lands. The onslaught of Death- to make way for renewal.

Arda was marred, when it was meant to be perfect. His master now saw only one way to 'restore' it to what it was always meant to be. He had been made to destroy, so that his master could create anew.

He would subjugate this world, so that it would blossom like never before under his master's rule.

His Dark Master had sacrificed a great part of his power to make him- and he was perfect. Without a flaw. Nothing would stand against him. But now, patience was needed.

It had been communicated to the Shadow that the final breaking of the Fellowship of the Ring would take place at Mithlond, the Grey Havens. The Ringbearer would go to Valinor- and so would he. A risky move, but an essential one.

Lightning struck the barren and desolate land. It was a dominion of Sauron once, noted the Shadow. As of now, he had no interest in it.

Ah, Sauron. Foolish _idiot_. He had always possessed Great Power- but had never properly used it. He had made a ring, and promptly lost it. What a fool.

Then again, although he did have great power, it was in a useless domain. Crafting and forging, and the manipulation of fire- pah.

Crafting had its uses, but all the weapons in the world can do but nothing against pure, unleashed destruction. The greatest roaring fires could be outlasted in a war of attrition with adequately sorcerous frost.

As for his master, though, He had True power. Power in exactly the right domain to carry out his plan. The Shadow himself didn't possess great power, but his power was exactly the right thing required.

 _He possessed no Terrible Power (yet), but what Power he possessed was Terrible._ It would make no sense to anybody else, but it made perfect sense to the Shadow and his Master.

_'Valar, just you wait. You have never been truly challenged before, not even by Melkor. Eru always held you in favour. But the One is currently busy with other creations, and he holds others apart from you in his favour as well. Just you wait, for your doom is upon you. I will strike from the Shadows, and retreat where you cannot find me, and repeat the cycle until I have destroyed that cursed land of yours, your relationships, your 'children', the Maiar, and those damned Eruhini you care so much about, finally making your life a DREAD HELL NOT WORTH LIVING!' thought the Shadow._

'It would come with time. Patience. Play with time in your hand. Time is your ally. Show no emotion, for you have none. I gave you none. Emotions are inhibitors. Ever they slow you down. Your soul is like the coldest frost, and you must strike without mercy- but never hate. Never lash out. That leads to recklessness, and defeat. Melkor's greatest mistake. You must be patient, my shadow. My Dread Terror." said the voice of his master, in his mind.

"Yes, my master."

He was Doom. He was darkness. _Doomdarkness._

Mor. Manar. Mormanar.

Lord Mormanar.

He was supposed to be devoid of all emotion or feeling- but somehow, he found that he quite liked the sound of it.


	2. A Journey's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Fellowship disembarks on Valinor, and the Final breaking takes place on the Gold-washed shores. And adventure ends... And another begins

Chapter 1- A Journey's End

The fourth age dawned bright and clear upon Middle-Earth, under the leadership of Aragorn II Elessar, known by the world as Envinyatar, the renewer. The power of evil purged from the lands, and the threat of Sauron ended once and for all, finally it was time for the civilisation of man to flourish.

The Elves had all but left the shores of Ennor, in their ships white and swift as swans. They had heeded the call of the seagulls, and finally sailed off among the gentle caress of the waves of Ulmo's domain, as Valinor was waiting.

Ah, Valinor. The land of peace and plenty, and eternal prosperity. It sat waiting for the Elves, who were exhausted, and weary of Middle-Earth. Nestled among the Pelóri, the land of the Valar seemed to spread its gold-washed arms out invitingly for those who, by rights, should have known it as their home throughout.

They would go to the Gardens of Lórien, where they would be healed in mind and in spirit, all their regrets and worries washed away. Then, they could look forward to a life of eternal bliss, of lasting perfection- all under the rule of their beloved Valar.

This was salvation. This was beauty incarnate. Now, they would have not a care in the world. Life would be perfect- so thought Círdan the Shipwright.

Unbeknownst to him, all was not well in Valinor.

The Swan-shaped ship entered into one of the many natural harbours in the Mouth of Avallonë- the greatest city of the elves. Further ahead, inland, was Valmar- the greatest place of inhabitancy they could hope for in all of Arda.

The thousand-odd year old elves all fell silent. 'Oohs' and 'Aahs' escaped their mouths as if they were little elflings- restored to their childhood- for there was no greater sight their eyes would ever- or could ever- see.

The sunlit harbour of Avallonë was glorious magnificence incarnate. Through the arms of the mountains, which were white as marble, the narrow gap stretched forth into an immense lagoon. It was currently a very busy spot- for tons of vessels were being unloaded and then 'parked' as they released forth their anchors.

In front of them stretched the great mountain of Taniquetil, the crown-shaped mountain towering over the land like a benign yet just sovereign. They could just make out the glint of Manwë and Varda's abode, Ilmarin- as it twinkled as a star in broad daylight.

Behind them, with its green hills, rolling pastures and perfectly conical expanse, was Tol Eressëa. A single estate on the shore was visible to a few- especially to two known as 'Maura' and 'Mithrandir' among the elves. They were to stay there- as that was Gandalf's own estate, given graciously by his beloved teacher- and friend- Nienna.

As the rest of the ship was gazing collectively at the beauty of Valinor- some screams and soft plops followed by laughter indicated that some of the overwhelmed elves had fallen off, forgetting the railing, and started to swim to the shore themselves- Gandalf the White and Frodo the Ringbearer- the two chief vanquishers of Sauron, looked longingly at the comparatively little island behind them.

They were to stay there- but had decided, for their friends' sake, that they would get off on Avallonë first, go along with them to the gardens of Lórien, and be healed in mind and spirit, and then see each of the other fellowship members to their respective abodes.

"You know, Gandalf- I think I can finally rest in peace" said Frodo.

"Oh, no! Say not those words- not here in the undying lands. Your troubles are far behind you, my dear hobbit" said Gandalf with a smile.

"I do believe I could improve my vocabulary- to think that I travelled all over Middle-Earth, learning of a myriad of languages, only to lose my skill in Westron!" laughed the former ringbearer. "Rest in peace, indeed!"

"I daresay you'll manage to live, Frodo. In fact, even you would be hard-pressed to find a way to land yourself in Mortal Peril in this glorious land of the Valar. However, one must not be careful- especially one with death-seeking talents such as yours."

"Oh, come off it! Well, you're probably right… as usual…" replied Frodo.

"Frodo, my lad! You wouldn't mind seeing the glorious sights in front, would you? This is the best treat a hobbit could get! Would you mind looking at it for me- my eyes are quite glazed over by sheer awe."

Frodo laughed at Bilbo's 'jest', which was, in fact, quite true. The view was too much for that Old Hobbit. Eagles were now flying over the boat, and Frodo, straining his eyes, found the impossibly-clear sky getting slightly clouded where they passed. In fact, he thought he could see lightning flickering across their wings as they flew…

"The Eagles! The Eagles are coming! Look, Uncle Bilbo!"

"Oh my dear Eru, the Eagles of Manwë! Glorious creatures! You know, Frodo, these are the ancestors of the Eagles we met over in Middle-earth! Exactly the same- yet different- serve the Elder King himself- notable differences in power- different flight patterns…"

Bilbo got lost in a history lesson about the Eagles of Manwë, with Gandalf often interrupting him to correct facts and tell parts the Hobbit knew not. All the while, Frodo watched the eagles fly by, their glorious wings spreading. One seemed to catch his eye. Then, at once, the three immediately turned course and flew directly towards Ilmarin upon Taniquetil. Frodo had a strange suspicion that they were reporting news to the Elder King himself- news concerning Frodo…

"-Thorondor remains their lord although Eönwë often wears the guise of one himself-"

"Yes, that's quite enough, Bilbo. Frodo's head might burst with information if you continue on at this rate. Now, waddle along to Círdan, will you- he has quite a talent for explaining the landscape of any place…"

"Oh. Right. Waddle- my foot! Oh, I'm a sturdy old Hobbit, all right! I don't waddle on my proud foots…"

"Proud feet!" called Frodo after him. The young Hobbit had not manage to gauge the full meaning of Gandalf's words- but Bilbo recognised the Istar's words as an order of dismissal. Frodo looked over at the passengers once, and turned to Gandalf, whose expression had changed from cheerful to grave in a millisecond.

"Frodo."

"Yes, Gandalf?"

"You were the ringbearer."

"Yes, I was… although I had a whole fellowship around me…"

"You were the chief instrument of the destruction of Sauron."

"Yes- but that was not me! Sam helped- if not for him I couldn't have- then you- Aragorn- Legolas- Gimli- even Boromir and Sméagol, of all people- all of you helped me! I couldn't…"

"Frodo. Listen. Do not downplay your achievement. You destroyed Sauron. You brought the Fourth Age upon Middle-earth. You are the saviour of all. Don't think I didn't expect it- you have been summoned to give a full account of all your adventures before the Doomsman of the Valar himself."

Dumbstruck would be an understatement for what Frodo felt. He had only heard tales of Mandos, the master of doom. None of them were benign. All of them were frightening to boot. The mere mention of the Doomsman was enough to knock the wind out of him and leave him cowering on the floor.

"B-but- Gandalf, why me? Why him?"

"Oh, don't be a fool, hobbit. You were the one who destroyed the ring. Naturally, you should be the one delivering the tale. As for why to Him…"

Gandalf's face adopted a grave expression, but one of deepest respect and utmost devotion. Among all the Valar, Lord Mandos had always been the one who had inspired the most awe and sheer admiration in the Maia.

"Lord Mandos is the master of Doom and Fate. He knew you were going to destroy the ring. He had foreseen it. He knew exactly what would come of this war, and he knew your fate, Frodo, as well as Sauron's. It was He who sent me back. You must go to him, for he requires an account from a direct onlooker's perspective. Then, and only then, will he enter it into his great book of the fates: Of the Dooms that have been, are being carried out, and even some that have not yet come to pass. You must do this, Frodo."

The Hobbit suddenly felt dwarfed, more than he already was. So Mandos had _known! He had known everything!_ What was the point of all his fear, suffering, courage and bravery, if this was, in the end, inevitable? What sense of achievement he had in completing his quest was almost immediately drowned. He realised then that he was but an ant, a pawn, an expendable piece, in the grand design of fate.

He looked at Gandalf. So the wizard had always known! All the stratagems and counsels- all the ingenious war strategy- no doubt Lord Mandos had told him exactly what to do! He looked now at the wizard, with sudden, inexplicable dislike.

"Gandalf- you knew? You knew that this would happen? You used me!"

"Frodo Baggins! Take me not for an all-knowing clairvoyant! Never, at no point in the quest, did I knowingly use you!"

A shadow came over the ship as he uttered this. Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, and all the others turned their heads to face them. Thinking it would be best to continue their conversation later, they hushed.

"My dear Frodo- we asked too much of you. We ruined your life. Please- I did not know anything about the future. I was going along as blindly as any of you. All I knew was some characteristics of Sauron's nature- he was of my order, as you see…" A tear came to Gandalf's cheek as he whispered this.

"Frodo- I wish I could see into the future- if only that would have made your quest safer, and your burden easier to bear. But alas- I could not. I came to appreciate the grand scheme of things- only now that I am returning home." Gandalf's mouth twitched into a fond smile, and another soft, elusive tear made its way down his cheek.

"Please, my dear hobbit- can you ever forgive this old man for his mistakes?"

Frodo was completely touched. His anger having quite vanished away, he said- "There is nothing to be sorry for, Gandalf."

"Spoken like a true friend and hobbit!" said the wizard, stooping down to hug Frodo in a tight embrace.

The sun-washed land came to light, and a soft, soundless bump, that could be felt as if it was a gentle caress, told the occupants of the ship that they had, finally, made landfall.

"My kin- we are here" said Círdan, and ceremoniously threw the board down, allowing the passengers to alight, himself at the head.

The Elves immediately rushed out, in a manner decidedly unlike their people. It could be called a stampede. As soon as an elf hopped lightly off the ramp, or directly off the ship, he/she was greeted by the arm of an awaiting family member before reaching the ground. It was a truly touching scene, laughter and sobs equally prominent, but none could argue that they were all glad to be back.

It was finally time for the 'important' passengers to descend, once the stampede had somewhat lessened. The first out was, as usual, Glorfindel, the Noble Elf-Lord and Balrog Slayer. Unfortunately for the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, he had no direct family left, as they had all perished in Gondolin, or before.

However, he still had a great share of attention, with dozens of elves, among both the Noldor, his kin, and the Vanyar- whose appearance he greatly resembled. Swinging his word around, he'd tell them tales of his exploits- A familiar tale involving Frodo and the Nazgûl soon found its way out his lips.

Vanyarin elf-maidens cooed at Glorfindel- he obviously possessed an extremely attractive person. It would be considered rude by some of the sheltered elves- it could even be called ogling- but Glorfindel did not seem to mind at all. The maidens of the Noldor looked on with jealousy, some feeling extremely possessive of their kinsman. Glorfindel, detaching himself from his friends, made his way to the maidens, and eventually the whole throng of eligible ladies went off, forming a cocoon around Glorfindel, discussing topics that would perhaps never come to light.

This was the signal for the others. Galadriel and Celeborn, taking the initiative, began walking down hand in hand. However, as soon as Galadriel had reached the land, a blur attacked her with the force of a lightning bolt. She was tackled down, Celeborn not even realising he had relinquished her hand, said blur landing on top of her.

The Blur was, in fact, revealed to be an elf. He had dark hair, and in his eyes burned a fire of old. Although he looked young, it was clear to the wise that he truly was ancient. He had seen the entirety of the First Age, and the times before that. The distinct clatter of circlets could be heard, as both Galadriel's and a much richer, greater one were knocked off, and both fell, with a soft plop, into the sea. This other circlet must belong to Galadriel's assailant, then.

Sighing, Gandalf raised Narya to the air, summoning Galadriel's circlet out of the water, as Elrond raised Vilya and did the same with the other. Elrond, however, let the circlet hover in the air for a while as he examined it. Oh. It was the Ancient crown of the High King of the Noldor. The 'assailant', it could be surmised, was Finarfin, the High King. Galadriel's Adar. Elrond made to bow, but seeing as the King only had eyes for his daughter, it was quite redundant.

"GALADRIEL! MY DEAR LITTLE BABY, HOW GOOD IT IS TO SEE YOU!" cried Finarfin, audibly enough for all to hear. A muffled noise appeared from where he was smothering the Elf-Queen. Celeborn looked quite speechless, and decided to do or say nothing.

"Oh, my daughter! You finally came back to Adar! How dare you ran off in the first place- ah, you naughty girl, you…"

Galadriel was considering screaming for help. A figure, with hair as silver as moonlight, was making its way towards the two.

"Naneth, save me!" cried Galadriel in desperation to her mother, Eärwen, who had only just reached there.

"Oh, you Naughty, Naughty Girl! Bad Galadriel! Now, don't you ever go off running away from Adar ever again! Aha! You're grounded, so there- for the next two thousand years, I think- yes, that would be enough… My dear, we were so worried about you!"

Frodo could not hide his laughter. Elrond, despite his powers of Iron Control, struggled greatly to contain his mirth, an amused expression lining his face. Ah, his mother-in-law, who had scared him so much, especially concerning Celebrían- seeing her mauled so- that was quite a spectacle. Gandalf, on the other hand, was laughing uproariously. He had always been rather fond of Galadriel- it seemed her father was overly so.

"Give her some air, for Goodness' sake!" laughed Eärwen. Finarfin stopped smothering his daughter with hugs and then lifted her up neatly into his arms. Celeborn tried his hardest to restrain his sudden impulse of jealousy- that position was associated mainly with husbands and wives. Galadriel, meanwhile, said through clenched teeth, "I am perfectly capable of walking, Adar- Nowletmego!"

Finarfin merely held onto her tighter.

It was time, now, for Lord Elrond to descend. Something captured the Peredhel's attention- it was a white dove, more beautiful than any to fly the skies, making its way directly towards him. A tremendously beautiful Elf, possessing Arwen's features of white pearl but Galadriel's piercing eye and golden hair, was running slightly behind the dove.

Elrond gave up all pretense of dignified respectability and ran towards the two figures. Just then, the dove landed lightly on the ground- and behold! Where previously there was a dove, now there was an Elf-maiden of great beauty. The other, equally beautiful elf-maiden caught up to her, panting slightly. "You might as well give up, Celebrían. I always win these little contests of ours" laughed the one who had been the dove a moment ago.

"Naneth! Melamin!" cried Elrond, and fell upon them, embracing both in a tight hug. Something tremendously odd happened at that moment- despite it being broad daylight, the light of a star shone directly above them. For a moment, a clear, bright spot could be made out in the sky, before it vanished. "I love you too, Adar" breathed Elrond, an unsolicited tear coming to his eye.

Elwing, who had been blessed by the Valar to be able to take flight as a dove, embraced her son, as her fëa embraced his. Their minds spoke to each other, and Elwing communicated to Elrond what could not be expressed in words- her overwhelming love for him and how much she had missed him. Elrond knew that Eärendil was also listening.

"Well, I better be getting off, then" said Elwing, looking at Elrond and Celebrían, "I'm sure you two lovebirds will take a long time to get back home. I'm sure you two have much to discuss after your separation…" And with that, Elwing ran forward, called upon the winds of Manwë, and jumped off the ground. The white dove flew off towards the Mindon Eldalieva.

"Where are Elladan and Elrohir?" asked Celebrían, suddenly serious.

"They have stayed back at Middle-Earth. They wish to set all their affairs in order, and also see out the first few years of the reign of King Elessar." said Elrond. Celebrían frowned, and looked at her husband darkly. Elrond felt uncomfortable, and decided to come out with the truth.

"I'm sorry, Melamin. The Truth is- I hate to break your heart, but Elladan and Elrohir may never come back."

Celebrían looked at him coldly, all of a sudden.

"I could do nothing! Their love of the land is too great. I tried to persuade them, but they would not come. We can only hope, that in due course, they will."

Celebrían's expression softened. However, when she looked up at her husband again, she looked oddly despondent.

"And what of Arwen?" she asked.

"She- she…"

"Married Estel. Or, as I should refer to him, King Elessar."

"Who told you…"

"Lady Varda herself told me."

Elrond looked shocked that a Valië would be taking interest in his third son. His little son. His dopted boy.

"I- uh- I… Celebrían, he is my son. I adopted him. I raised him. No matter what I told Arwen, she was bent on marrying him. They were meant for each other- just like you and me."

Celebrían, for a while, looked even sadder.

"She will die, then…"

"Yes. She will."

The two of them stood silent, taking acknowledgement with this inevitability. Finally, the sadness receded, and Celebrían looked up.

"Elessar- your son- YOU NEVER TOLD ME ANYTHING ABOUT HIM!" Elrond raised his arms in protest, but his wife cut him off.

"HOW DARE YOU? AND ME, YOUR WIFE! YOU, SIR, ARE COMING HOME RIGHT NOW! DON'T EXPECT ANY REST UNTIL YOU'VE TOLD ME THE WHOLE STORY!" she said with mock-sternness.

"But, Melamin, you were here and I in Imladris- how was I supposed to…"

"Palantír, of course! You could have taken the first from Sauron, attacked his city or something…"

"But, Melamin, I'm sure Sauron wouldn't take kindly to…"

"Oh, the last time I saw you, Lord Elrond, you loved me more than to let a petty little Dark Lord get in the way of your love!"

"What of the second, then?"

"I'm sure Curumo would…"

"He betrayed us." Said Elrond Gravely. Celebrían looked shocked for a moment. A moment.

"Tell me more!"

And with that, Elrond departed with Celebrían, narrating the tale of the War of the Ring. Galadriel was pleased that Celebrían wouldn't have to see her mother being made a fool of even further. Finarfin, forgetting the fact that this was highly inappropriate, considering he was the High King of the Noldor, kept fussing over her.

Finally, Gandalf and Frodo disembarked. Seeing Celeborn and Finarfin engaged in a sort of Tug-of-war for Galadriel, they passed the two, and went on.

Galadriel had finally gotten herself free of the two, and, muttering something Darkly under her breath, something which seemed to amuse Eärwen a little too much, started walking with her mother towards the Gardens of Vána, for Galadriel dearly wished to see her old mentor, Melian, again. An eagle flew elegantly towards them, and without touching the ground, picked them both up, before fluying off once more.

This left Finarfin and Celeborn together. Finarfin, surprised at Celeborn's great strength, was declaring aloud that he should have been of the Noldor, not the Sindar, eliciting icy replies from the latter. Finarfin then rounded upon Celeborn, and hurried him away. Gandalf knew that the Elf-Lord would be subjected to thorough scrutiny and cross-examination, since Finarfin needed to convince himself whether he really was a worthy husband for his beloved daughter.

Sighing fondly, Gandalf stretched forth a hand, and released a loud, shrieking cry. An answering cry greeted him, and a majestic eagle swept down, landing gracefully.

"Go on, Frodo" said the former Istar, at which point the hobbit clambered on. Gandalf ascended after him.

The Eagle gave another majestic cry, before it shot off into the air.

**Author's Note:**

> ** Author's Note:  **
> 
> **So there you have it. I spent a WHOLE YEAR tinkering with this OC, trying to make him as terrifying a villain as possible without making him a sadistic kurvanog (That's Black Speech, and therefore censored). Finally, he is perfect. It'll be a few chapters before his grand entry, and I promise you he'll do it in style...**
> 
> **So, His Master, the new 'Dark Lord', as I guess you could call him, is NOT AN OC. He's one of Professor Tolkien's many creations. I do enjoy fan theories, hence feel free to bombard the review box with them. I might even tell you how close you are...**


End file.
